


Neither Snow nor Rain (Can Keep Me from Coming to You)

by thatdamneddame



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Mailman!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 09:49:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3891799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatdamneddame/pseuds/thatdamneddame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Derek wants is a mailman who respects the sanctity of the US postal service.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neither Snow nor Rain (Can Keep Me from Coming to You)

**Author's Note:**

> basically I stumbled on that [meet weird aus](http://thatdamneddame.tumblr.com/post/117983799435/meet-weird-aus) post floating around tumblr and, guys, I'm weak.
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely prettyasadiagram who, when she lets me do shit like this, at least makes sure it's decent.

Cora says, “I’m buying something online and I don’t want mom to see it. Can I have it shipped to your place?”

If Derek were smart, he would have asked what it was. But instead he says, “Sure, whatever you need.”

 

***

 

What Cora needs, apparently, is something from some place called Agent Provocateur and Derek has to sign for it.

“Trying to spice things up for Valentine’s Day, huh?” asks the mailman, some kid about the same age as Cora with a shit-eating grin and big brown eyes. “Something fancy for the missus?”

Derek tugs the box out of the mailman’s hands. “I’m single,” he tells him and shuts the door in his face.

 

***

 

He writes it off as one time only thing, gives Cora her package, and continues on with his life.

 

***

 

“Were they having a fire sale?” the mailman asks. “Or are you just trying to find something in your size?”

This time, when Derek tries to grab for the box, the mailman pull it away.

“It’s my sister’s,” Derek relents, and when the guy’s face filters through about a thousand emotions at once, he adds, “She still lives at home and doesn’t want our mom snooping.”

The mailman laughs and actually hands the package over like he’s supposed to. “Oh man, I don’t blame her.”

Derek, very firmly, does not want to know.

 

***

 

Apparently, Cora took Derek’s one time yes as _carte blanche_ to go absolutely apeshit online shopping.

“It’s just a coping mechanism because it’s either that or write her master’s thesis,” Laura says, like the fact she took Psych 101 _and_ 102 nearly ten years ago makes her any kind of a real doctor.

Derek disagrees. “It’s rude, is what it is.”

“Fine, you tell her to stop.” Laura doesn’t even have to decency to pretend like in any universe is that a thing that would actually happen. Derek stabs glumly at his salad and tells himself that he would be fine with his baby sister using him as some sort of shady middle man if only the mailman stopped asking about it.

 

***

 

This time it’s not Agent Provocateur or Fredrick’s of Hollywood—and Derek knows what that is, because Erica is a traumatizing friend to have, and he is _not thinking about it_ —but a plain brown box with the words ‘Knife Depot’ neatly printed along the side.

“It’s a little _Fifty Shades_ , if you ask me,” says the mailman, who no one was asking. He is keeping well out of arm's reach while Derek signs for Cora’s terrible choices. He can already hear his mother yelling at him about being a terrible enabler, like she isn’t letting Cora live at home rent free. “Unless this is yours?”

Derek hands the weird machine back and holds out his hand for the package. “Not mine,” he says shortly.

“That’s one hell of a sister, then.” The mailman smiles, and Derek can feel himself weaken enough that he can admit to himself that for a terrible snoop the man has a pretty good smile.

 

***

 

“Now this has to be yours.” The mailman is holding up a sturdy white mailing bag that very clearly says Dress Barn. It also, very clearly, does not need to be signed for.

“It is.” Derek glares. “My mom’s birthday is next week.”

The mailman sort of blushes and sort of grins and Derek very much does not think about how many freckles the guy has. “Oh, uh, well I’m sure she’ll love it. Whatever it is.”

He hands it over and their fingers sort of blush and it’s totally a nonevent. Totally.

 

***

 

Cora decides that, what she really needs, are five pounds of Sweethearts with her name on them. Some mail lady with a sweet face and killer dimples delivers them. She does not suggest a single lewd possibility about what could be on them.

“Where’s the normal guy?” Derek asks before he can stop himself.

“Stiles? He’s got the week off. Camping with his dad or something.” She hands over Cora’s poor life choices and waves good-bye. She really is a much more professional mail carrier. Derek has no idea why he misses Stiles so much.

 

 ***

 

Besides the girl with dimples, there is also a guy with a crooked jaw. He’s also very nice and very professional. Derek decides he dislikes them both.

He dislikes Stiles most, of course. Stiles isn’t even a real name. Stiles isn’t even good at his job.

 

***

 

Derek nearly cries the day Stiles comes back to work and rings Derek’s doorbell like his _Reader’s Digest_ is something that needs to be signed for.

“Do you need this?” Stiles asks. “Because this article on apple cider vinegar is really something.”

Derek pulls the magazine out of his hands and refuses to be shamed by his preferred choice in easy reading material. “Are you supposed to be reading people’s mail?” he demands.

Stiles laughs and shrugs, unconcerned. Derek didn’t miss him at all. One day he’ll believe that.

 

***

 

Laura must have said something shitty to Cora about the Sweethearts, because this time when Derek opens his door it’s to Stiles holding up a box and saying, “You’re getting food from Beyoncé now? Really? I’m pretty sure whatever you’re doing is working. Really.” He makes some sort of vague gesture to all of Derek, blushes furiously, and then seems to recover enough to smile that same shit-eating grin.

Someone should really file a complaint about how Stiles is a terrible mailman. But not today.

 

 ***

 

Derek makes the mistake of telling Laura about it.

“He comments about _all of my mail_. Even though it’s Cora’s.” He glares at Cora who is alternating mouthfuls of quinoa and spinach with handfuls of Sweethearts. Cora is in some sort of writing Zen zone and ignores them with aplomb.

“Isn’t that, like, a federal offense?” asks Laura, who is in fact a lawyer and should probably actually know.

Derek glares some more at Cora in her corner because it’s all her fault anyways. “Probably.”

Laura looks thoughtful for a moment. “I would complain, if I were you. I mean, he’s a federal employee. And that’s pretty disrespectful.”

Which is exactly what Derek keeps telling himself as he drives from Laura’s to the post office after lunch.

 

 ***

 

“I would like to make a complaint,” Derek tells the girl at the counter, Kira according to her nametag. “About my mailman.”

She smiles politely at him. “Of course. Do you know your carrier's name? Or could I have your address?”

“Stiles,” Derek tells her, feeling silly, because it’s a stupid name and his stupid mailman won’t stop commenting on all his mail that’s not even his. “He keeps commenting on my mail,” he informs her. “He’s not respecting the sanctity of the US postal service.”

“Um, well, that’s not actually prohibited,” she says. She, unlike Stiles, has the decency to look apologetic. “But I can talk to him for you? Or you can wait until the Post Mistress gets back from lunch and you can talk with her?”

Derek is nothing if not stubborn. “It’s fine,” he tells her. “I’ll wait.”

 

***

 

He paces inside the post office until Kira tells him that he’s scaring the customers. Then he paces outside until Stiles pulls up in his stupid mail truck whistling off key.

“Oh, hey, Derek,” Stiles says, looking a little confused and a little happy all at once. “You know, you can pay online and then I can pick any packages up at your house.” He almost, but not quite, manages to keep a straight face while he says it. Derek wonders if he became a mailman because he enjoyed the innuendos. He wouldn’t put it past him.

“No, I came to talk to someone,” Derek says, not really angry anymore and reminding himself that Stiles is a _terrible employee of the US government_.

Stiles turns off the mail truck engine. “Wait, give me a sec, I can’t hear you properly in this thing.” There is probably a graceful way to exit a mail truck. Clearly, Stiles has not mastered it yet. Derek does his best not to smile.

“You were saying?” Stiles asks once he’s actually standing in front of Derek. “You needed to talk to someone? Is there a problem?” This close, Derek can see Stiles has the beginnings of a sunburn on his nose and that he has very long eyelashes.

“ _You’re_ my problem,” Derek tells him with conviction.

Stiles sort of gapes for a moment before recovering himself. “Me? What the hell did I do to you?” Which just sort of proves Derek’s entire complaint that Stiles is super unprofessional, but instead of saying _you keep commenting on all my mail and make weird comments about my sister although common courtesy would dictate that you pretend not to know what you’re delivering_ , Derek sort of yells:

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Stiles’s goes blank for a second and Derek has a sinking feeling that he’s going to be getting a professional mailman in his near future whether he likes  it or not. But then Stiles laughs and says, “Well, I can fix _that_.”

And clearly Stiles has figured out that words are not Derek’s strong suit, because he pulls him in for a kiss.

 

***

 

“Trying to spice things up for Valentine’s Day, huh?” asks the mailman, handing over a plain brown box from Amazon and waggling his eyebrows. “Get something nice for the missus?”

“I wish you’d stop calling yourself that,” Derek glowers and Stiles laughs. Derek has to admit, he’s pretty pleased with the postal service these days.


End file.
